All Because Of A Bug

This morning David got up at his usual time to do his usual thing in the bathroom. I swear you could set your clock by him. About ten minutes later he comes back into the bedroom to wake me out of a half dazed coma to tell me there was a ginormous roach by the bathroom scale.

Like why the fuck is he waking me up for this!?!  But what I blurted out was something completely different like "it probably weighed itself and shouted DAYUM and had a heart attack and fell off the scale."

Anywho, David was not amused and neither was I for the fact that he woke me up for a damned bug report. I just told him to give it a proper toilet burial and this weekend we need to spray the house inside and out.

Now I have to let y'all in on something about David/husband/sexy beast/plaything. He's got that fucking OCD thing. Yeah, really bad. If he sees that the lawn is a 6th of an inch high from the last time he cut it, guess what, he has got to go and cut it at that moment. So you can just imagine how much of a fight he put up when I had to get him to forget the spraying thing right this morning.

He's going to be alright. Only a few cuts and his nose stopped bleeding after I told him to put some ice on it. It didn't look broken to me.

OCD

Obsessive Compulsion Disorder. Anyone who has a Boston Terrorist for a pet knows what this is. If you don't understand, it's when there are like six thousand little green tennis balls all over the house, in every room and your dog only wants one specific ball and it just happens to be under a bookcase.

Spunky waiting forever for David to throw the ball.

You can be doing something important like trying to get your blog post finished or making toast and out of the living room comes a pathetic little whine from your puppy dog. I don't mean just a sigh type whine. The is a really gut wrenching cry like whine from a poor puppy that lost his only green friend from a sea of friends all around him.

I for one don't want to get down on my arthritic knees just to get one stupid ball. So there Spunky sits for two hours. Whining and occasionally barking like he's trying to get the ball's attention.  Such concentration. I wish I had that. Then he gets tired and decides to lay down and wait for it to come out on it's own.

Finally David comes home for lunch and Spunky is all crazy with joy. He shows David his problem and it's like a mental thing with those two. Except David has extortion on his mind. David says sympathetically, "okay I'll get it out for you. Ya got a dollar? No?  How bout fifty cents?"

Poor Spunkinator. He can't seem to catch a break today. I smack David upside the head and he get's the ball for the little Spunkazoid, who shows his elation at getting his friend back by prancing off to the media room to put it in his bed where he can sleep with it for the afternoon siesta.